


Restoration

by C4ff3in3



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arya Stark-centric, Protective Arya Stark, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:35:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27901588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C4ff3in3/pseuds/C4ff3in3
Summary: Arya didn’t plan on being the one to kill the night king, and she definitely didn’t plan on traveling back in time. But she’d be damned if her family didn’t survive this time around.Or,Arya Stark centric time travel fanfic.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 102





	1. Chapter 1

Arya was in the Godswood. For someone who claimed to only believe in death, you’d think she’d avoid the diety’s of her childhood; but after recent events, she found she couldn’t stay away.

The last thing Arya could remember was the glowing red eyes on the weirwood tree as she stabbed the night king, and the next thing she knew, she was laying in bed with her parents standing vigil beside her. For a second she thought she had actually died. But the pain in her head told her she was still among the living. Her mother had cried as it became apparent that Arya was awake and her father’s stoic facade cracked when he saw she was okay. They were so relieved as they hugged her, but Arya couldn’t help but feel anything but confused. It had been seven years since she had seen her parents alive, and that could only mean she had traveled back in time. She didn’t understand how, but after everything, she had seen she couldn’t write anything off as impossible anymore.

Her parents were concerned as Arya tried to get up, but Arya couldn’t help but feel a pull towards the Godswood. From the time she could talk she had learned about the seven from her mother and septas while the Godswood was the place she swam in the spring and had fun with her brothers. But for some reason, she knew she’d find the answers she was looking for there. So against her parent’s wishes, she snuck out while they were alerting her siblings and went to the Godswood.

Sneaking around Winterfell felt easier than she remembered. And a lot less stressful than her latest bout of dodging white walkers the last time she made this trip.

As she got closer to the weirwood the pull became stronger. The wind began to pick up until the only thing she could hear was the sound of her own heartbeat. There was something powerful in the air, and while at one point in time this might have made her weary, she could only feel anticipation for what was to come. The leaves seemed to sing in the breeze as Arya finally got close enough to touch the ancient tree.

As her palm touched its weeping eyes, her vision blurred and she heard a voice. It was as if the wind itself was talking, but instead of the ethereal sound she would have expected from something as delicate as the wind, a guttural ancient tongue surrounded her. Hearing this, she could finally understand why the Starks of old were so devoted to the old gods. It was nothing like the simpering prayers and flighty words of the seven, but a powerful and brutal promise as winter itself. It was the wind that seeped into bones, the rivers that could cut rock, and the snow that turned bodies blue. This was winter, and it had come for her.

“Arya Stark,” she heard. “Restore us.”

And suddenly visions were flitting past her eyes. She saw the children and the first men worshipping the old gods together. She saw The Wall being constructed with magic she could only dream of using. She saw Giants wandering Westeros and dragons that made Daenerys' children look like mutts. The magic was suffocating and unlike anything she had ever experienced. She doubted even Bran had felt magic's overwhelming touch as the three-eyed raven. 

“Restore us.” came the god’s last command as the wind weakened and Arya could once again see the godswood she had retreated to. With one more look towards the tree that had just left her with more questions than answers, she fainted to the sound of her mother’s frantic voice and the weirwoods eyes on her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya tries to adjust to her new reality.

The second time Arya woke up, she was surrounded by warm bodies. All of her siblings sans Jon were sleeping around her previously unconscious form.

“Little Sister,” She heard. Arya looked up and saw Jon leaning against the door. His hair looked unruly and the bags under his eyes gave him a slightly deranged look. It was a look she was used to seeing during her white walker infested future, but it was seldom a look her younger self had seen. The Jon she had known at this time was either brooding his bastard status or appeasing her with tricks against her other siblings. It looked out of place on her younger brother. 

‘Younger Brother’ she thought. What a concept. Just hours ago he was 6 years her elder and now she had lived two years more than him.

“You gave Father and Lady Catelyn quite a scare,” He said. He walked away from the door and towards her bed. “You gave me quite a scare.” He whispered. She didn’t know how to respond to that. What was she supposed to tell him? That she time-traveled to the past to restore the old gods after defeating the Night King and his army of white walkers? He’d think she was crazy.

“I’m fine Jon.” She tried to reassure him. She tried to sit up, but Robb’s arm blocked her movement. Her movement seemed to wake him up as a few seconds later he was rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Arya.” He said. His concern was clear as he looked her up and down as if she hadn’t been in bed under his arms.

“We were worried about you. Mother and Father said they found you in the Godswood. What were you doing there?” He asked her.

“Why wouldn’t I be in the godswood?” She asked, trying to avoid answering the question.

“I don’t know, maybe because you fainted during dinner and hit your head on the table on the way down.” He said sarcastically.

“Well I’m fine now”

“You are not fine! What makes you think passing out twice is fine?” Robb’s incredulous tones seemed to wake up the room and before she knew it her siblings were waking up as well. Jon was nowhere to be seen, but it was apparent that he had gotten her parents when they walked back into the room.

“I’m fine, I just took a little spill.” She spoke to both Robb and her parents. Her Father stepped towards her and Robb seemed to relax. Her Father’s presence seemed to calm her siblings. That was something she missed from her childhood. He seemed invincible with his warm eyes and calm demeanor. She couldn’t help but feel like he could solve all her problems when she was younger, but looking into his eyes she could only hear the sounds of Ice chopping off his head at the Sept of Baelor.

“Why did you run off earlier Arya?” Her father asked. Her siblings leaned in curious about her answer.

“I needed to pray to the old gods.” She answered truthfully. After being executed trying to keep her and Sansa safe, she couldn’t bring herself to lie to him. 

He looked surprised at her answer. Arya had never been the religious type. The only time she had prayed had been to The Seven, and that was only because her Septa had forced her to recite the words.

“You snuck away to pray to the old gods?” Her mother asked incredulously. “If you would’ve asked we could have brought you to the Septs. Running away was very irresponsible Arya. Thank the gods you didn’t injure yourself any further.” Her Mother chastised.

“I don’t believe in the Seven mother.” She replied. 

Arya was reminded of her confrontational nature as a child. The house of black and white had taught her to let go of emotion, less it got her killed, but being reprimanded by her mother seemed to bring back her fighting nature.

Her mother seemed to want to say more and drag her to Septa Mordane, but her father intervened.

“We were worried about you Arya, but if the old gods are what you need to get better then so be it.” He said. “Just let us know where you’re going until we can get Maester Luwin to check you over”

“Yes Father” She agreed. Her siblings seemed to be in disbelief with how their conversation had gone. Not only had Arya agreed to stay put and allow the Maester to examine her, but she had told their mother that she didn’t believe in the seven. All of them but Jon had been raised in their mother’s faith. They watched her sing in worship during bath times and light candles in their honor during feasts. To deny their existence was sacrilege.

Her Father seemed to recognize this so he spoke before her mother could begin lecturing her again.

“Let’s allow Arya to rest for now,” He said, ushering her siblings out of her room.

Over the next couple of days, she could tell that her family still thought there was something wrong with her. She was a lot quieter these days and her rebellious attitude seemed almost non-existent. She’d walk around Winterfell and couldn’t help but stare at the walls around her. The walls that had residual scorch marks now looked brand new. There were also so many new faces she didn’t recognize, but there were also faces she did.

One day Arya had been running with Nymeria when she bumped into Jory Cassel. She hadn’t seen him since she lived on the streets of Flea Bottom. It hadn’t really hit her until he asked her if she was alright that she realized that she had the chance to change everything. Before then it had been a dream to see her father talking to the smallfolk during dinner or watching her mother doing needlework with Sansa. Seeing Jory alive and well had put things in perspective. And if she was going to save her family she had to do it well.

After that day Arya became even more withdrawn. This body didn't have any of the muscle memory or endurance she had once had. So every morning She’d sneak into the crypts to practice before Septa Mordane came to wake her up.

She’d run around the crypts while reciting families as a warm-up. The first time she had lived she was so ignorant to politics and southern houses that Tywin Lannister almost caught her. She wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

Then she’d practice water dancing with a large branch she had whittled down. It was no needle, but it would do. Before leaving she would work on her strength by moving stones. And when she was done, she’d sneak back into her room while the sun rose. 

If Arya wasn’t training her body, she was sharpening her mind. During needlework lessons, she worked diligently instead of teasing Sansa or sneaking out. The number of scars she gained over the years from her own crooked stitching was embarrassing. Instead of chasing Bran, she read books in the library. She read everything from war tactics to botany, nothing was safe. 

And before dinner, she’d spend hours praying in the godswood. Most nights, her father joined her. 

‘How do I restore you?’ she’d ask her gods. And the only answer she received was the sound of her father sharpening ice beside her.

‘Can I save my family?’ she’d plead, and her father's gaze was her only response. She’d stare into those red eyes begging for an answer with her father's silence for company, until one day he broke his usual silence.

“What do you ask for?” he questioned.

“Ask for?” Arya repeated.

“Every night, you sit here with desperation on your face. The kind of desperation I wished none of my children would have to experience. And every night, you look disappointed, yet you return. So what is it that brings you back to the godswood?”

Arya stared at her father. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had wanted her opinion. The house of black and white had trained her to be a faithful servant, unconcerned with anything but the will of the many-faced god. Even before her training, she was a girl with dreams of revenge. Justice for her family often overrode her thoughts and opinions.  
“Do you believe in the old god's father?” She asked instead. 

“I do.” He answered simply. 

“Then what do you do when you know they have the answers, but refuse to tell you.” Arya knew she was being too candid with her father, but she couldn’t help it. She wanted her family to remain safe so desperately she was willing to do anything.

“Sometimes” he started, “it is not them refusing to answer, but us forgetting to listen.”

Every night Arya sat at this tree and begged for answers. For any clues that could help her complete her mission. But she couldn’t think of a single time besides her first night back that they told her anything.

“What do you ask for?” He repeated.

“I ask for guidance. A way to keep you all safe for what’s to come” she whispered, scared that speaking any louder would cause the events to happen sooner.

He looked at her puzzled. Arya could only imagine how bizarre this was for him. His youngest daughter was praying for their safety from the future, something no one-and-ten-year-old should be worrying about. But still, he responded.

“If asking for guidance isn’t working, then stop asking. Simply sit and bask in their presence. Listen to the wind through the trees, gaze into the eyes of the weirwood, and simply be one with the old gods.”

With this last piece of advice, he collected his blade, ruffled her hair, and walked back to the castle.

Arya felt so helpless. She couldn’t fight someone or something to make herself understand. And that was almost worst for her. Arya stood up, and followed her father back to the castle. 

Whatever she needed to understand wasn’t coming to her tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I plan to post infrequently as I don't really know what direction I want to take this in. Feel free to leave comments/suggestions.


End file.
